


your slightest look easily will unclose me

by fab_ia



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Second person POV, Sharing a Bed, disgustingly unhealthy relationships, late night almost-domesticity, murder jokes, soft but in a fucked up way yknow, they care about each other but shouldn't, yes this is a rewrite of a fic from 2018 dont @ me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:15:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25249750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fab_ia/pseuds/fab_ia
Summary: '“come to bed,” he says. “it’s late, jacobi. bed. gotta get up in the morning.”he’s right, and you will, sometime soon, you’ll go to bed with this monster.'
Relationships: Daniel Jacobi/Warren Kepler
Comments: 1
Kudos: 36





	your slightest look easily will unclose me

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [at some point soon, you'll go to bed with the monster](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14294397) by [fab_ia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fab_ia/pseuds/fab_ia). 



“come to bed,” he says. 

the room’s dark - borrowed for the night, paid for in cash so the receptionist has no access to any kind of real name, kepler’s bloodied hands buried deep in his pockets while you handed it over. you lean against the wall, the windowsill, slightly cracked open and letting the barest breeze come in from outside. the sound of the highway, soft conversation down a couple floors out in the parking lot. 

“come to _bed_ ,” kepler repeats, voice somewhere between soft and rough. breathless, throat a little scratchy and dotted with slowly-blooming bruises, coming down from his high. his hair sticks up more than a little - it’s had your hands run through it, after all, tugging and listening to the gasps at the sharp sting that comes from it. “it’s late, jacobi. bed. gotta get up in the morning.”

he’s right, and you will - you _will,_ sometime soon, you’ll go to bed with this monster. hidden deep below his skin now, often surfacing with bared teeth and burning eyes. you tilt your head to one side and you watch him shift, press his face against the pillow as he squints at your silhouette, backlit, drowned in an orange glow from the streetlamps slowly burning out. you hum, because you see his brows furrow, and wonder if he’ll pull you close when you curl up beside him, if he’ll rest a hand on your waist when you go downstairs in the morning. will the couple facade stand up, with the hickies and the fingerprints and the slight swelling beneath your clothes betraying the presence of a handgun? and nobody bats an eye at a gay couple, not anymore, so maybe the cover is better than pretending you’re just any two guys sharing a bed in a crappy motel late at night. maybe. maybe, maybe, maybe.

“you’re thinking,” he says, “jacobi, you’re thinking too much.”

your name’s three long syllables in his voice, honeyed and molasses-thick, drawn out vowels and softened consonants, just enough to betray the weariness at the corners of his consciousness. he’s tired, you’re tired, you’re both _tired_ , in so many different ways besides the simple definition. you hate him. you care about him so much.

“i’ll be there in a sec,” you say, voice dropped down to a whisper, or a mumble, low and gentle and you’re really trying not to ruin the moment, the almost-uncharacteristic gentleness he’s showing. “don’t worry.”

“i’m not worried,” he scoffs, “i don’t worry about you. i trust you.”

“mistake,” said with the barest hint of a laugh. “maybe i’m planning how to kill you in your sleep.”

“don’t let me scream,” he says, rolling over and pressing his face into the pillow. “mm.”

he’s grinning, you know he is, but he never wants to give you the satisfaction of seeing. shame, that, you like his smile. you like the lopsided and wolfish grins and his softer, more genuine smiles, in amusement or fondness, whichever. _what_ ever. you watch the repetitive motions of his breaths, the movement of his body - in, out, up, down - and study the curves of his shoulders, the way his skin stands out from the white sheets even in this darkness. maybe he’ll fall asleep like that, maybe he’ll suffocate.

“we’ve got a long day tomorrow,” he says eventually, after another pause that’s pregnant with the promise of _something_ , that’s shackled and weighted down, and it’s dangerous. kepler’s words taste like smoke, like the promises of a blaze, and you laugh.

“yeah,” finally, a concession, “yeah, alright.”

“i hope you don’t snore as loud as usual,” said as you get into bed beside him, leaving you to process the words as he turns, rolls over, presses his back against your chest and leaves you to pull him in closer. “i’d like to actually sleep,” as you press a hesitant kiss to the back of his head, the soft hair there, and he doesn’t react obviously but you feel the barest hint of a shudder run through his body. “get some rest.”

“i’ll do my damndest, sir,” and it isn’t a promise but he takes it as one, humming and closing his eyes. kepler finally lets himself relax in your arms and he must feel safe, _secure_ , which is crazy, ridiculous, any number of things, but it’s what he does. it’s a calculated risk.

“goodnight,” you say, later. his breath long-since evened out and since he’s so deeply asleep that there’s no way he’ll hear, you take a risk. a calculated risk. “goodnight, warren.”

the name, the familiarity, burns on your tongue. tastes wrong, tastes _strange_ , and you think you could get used to it. maybe you could learn to like it. 

maybe.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> title from e.e. cumming's "somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond", found here: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/153877/somewhere-i-have-never-travelledgladly-beyond
> 
> on tumblr @sciencematter
> 
> writing blog here: https://knewtonn.blogspot.com/


End file.
